《列子》Vol. 4

Confucius (Zhongni) was sitting at home in leisure when his disciple Zigong came to attend to him. Noticing his master looked troubled, Zigong dared not inquire directly and went out to inform Yan Hui.

Upon hearing this, Yan Hui took up his zither and began playing while singing. When Confucius heard the music, he indeed summoned Yan Hui and asked, "Why are you so joyful alone?" Yan Hui replied, "Master, why are you so troubled alone?" Confucius said, "First tell me your thoughts." Yan Hui answered, "I once heard you say, 'Those who rejoice in Heaven's will and understand destiny have no sorrows'—that is why I feel joyful."

Confucius' expression turned grave. After a moment of silence, he said, "Did I ever say such words? You have misunderstood. Those were words from my past—what I say today holds true now. You only know the aspect of rejoicing in Heaven's will that brings no sorrow, but not the aspect that brings great sorrow. Let me tell you the truth:"

"To cultivate one's personal virtue, to remain content in poverty or prosperity, to understand that life, death, and fate are beyond one's control, and to keep one's heart undisturbed by external changes—this is the state of 'rejoicing in Heaven's will without sorrow' that you speak of."

"In the past, I compiled the Book of Songs (Shijing) and Book of Documents (Shangshu) and established the rituals and music system to govern the world and benefit future generations—not merely for self-cultivation or ruling the state of Lu. But now, the rulers and ministers of Lu increasingly neglect proper order, while benevolence (Ren) and righteousness (Yi) decline daily, and human nature grows ever more shallow."

This passage comes from the Liezi and primarily recounts several dialogues and stories concerning the Way of Sages.

The first section raises a profound question: If a method of governance cannot be implemented in a single state or era, how can it be universally applicable to the entire world and future generations? This implies that the true Way of Sages should possess a timeless and universal quality that transcends specific contexts.

The second section presents Confucius' (or a certain wise figure's) realization: Initially, he believed that the Book of Songs, Book of Documents, and the rituals and music system could resolve societal chaos. Later, he discovered this wasn't the case. True wisdom lies in transcending worldly "pleasures" and "knowledge" to reach a state of "no pleasure and no knowledge" (wu le wu zhi). Paradoxically, this leads to being capable of all pleasures and all knowledge. Upon hearing this, Yan Hui (Confucius' most accomplished disciple) had a sudden awakening, while Zigong (another disciple) remained perplexed. Zigong pondered for seven days without eating or sleeping until Yan Hui enlightened him again.

The third section is a brief anecdote: When a high official from the state of Chen visited Lu, he privately met with the noble Shusun. Shusun boasted that Lu had the sage Confucius, quoting Yan Hui's words that Confucius could "discard the mind and follow the form" (fei xin er yong xing). The Chen official retorted that their state also had sages.

"Discarding the mind and following the form" is a key Daoist concept, referring to transcending subjective thinking and allowing actions to align completely with the natural Dao. Through these dialogues, the text illustrates the contemporary debates over the criteria for "sages" and reflects the Daoist critique of Confucian classics and ritual systems.

Someone asked, "Do you know?"

The reply came: "Who do you mean by 'sage'?"

The other said: "Lao Dan (i.e., Laozi) had a disciple named Kangcangzi, who inherited Laozi's Dao (the Way). It is said he could see with his ears and hear with his eyes."

When the ruler of Lu heard of this, he was astonished and sent a high-ranking minister with lavish gifts to invite him. Kangcangzi accepted the invitation and came. The Marquis of Lu respectfully sought his teachings. Kangcangzi said, "The rumors are untrue. I can indeed perceive without relying on eyes and ears, but it is not that I have literally swapped their functions."

The Marquis said, "This is even more extraordinary. How is it achieved? I would very much like to understand."

Kangcangzi explained: "My body is unified with my mind, my mind with my Qi (vital energy), my Qi with my Shen (spirit), and my Shen with the void (the highest state of the Dao). Even the subtlest existence, the faintest sound—whether distant as the horizon or close at hand—if it touches me, I can perceive it. This is not through the senses of the seven orifices or the four limbs, nor through the awareness of the internal organs, but a natural knowing."

The Marquis of Lu was delighted upon hearing this. Later, he recounted the matter to Confucius (Zhongni), who merely smiled and did not respond.

Another day, the Grand Steward of Shang met Confucius and asked, "Are you a sage?"

Confucius replied, "I dare not claim to be a sage. I am merely a man of broad learning."

The Grand Steward pressed, "Were the founding kings of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties sages?"

(Note: Kangcangzi describes a profound state achieved through Daoist cultivation, emphasizing the unity of body, mind, and the Dao, transcending ordinary sensory limitations. Confucius's reserved reaction reflects the Confucian caution toward mystical experiences, while his humble self-assessment demonstrates his scholarly principle of "transmitting without creating.")

When Confucius was asked by the Grand Minister of the Shang dynasty about the rulers of the Three Dynasties (Xia, Shang, and Zhou), he replied: "The kings of these three eras excelled at employing those with wisdom and martial prowess. But as to whether they attained the realm of sages—I, Kong Qiu, dare not make a presumptuous judgment."

When questioned about whether the Five Emperors (legendary ancient rulers) could be considered sages, Confucius answered: "The Five Emperors were skilled in practicing the Dao of benevolence and righteousness. But whether they truly qualify as sages—I, Kong Qiu, cannot say for certain." Pressed further about the Three Sovereigns (even more ancient mythical rulers), Confucius responded: "The Three Sovereigns could act in accordance with the times. But as for the title of 'sage,' I truly dare not affirm it."

This greatly surprised the Grand Minister, who pressed him: "Then who, in your view, truly deserves to be called a sage?" Confucius grew solemn, pondered for a moment, and said: "In the west, there is one who has attained the Dao (hinting at Laozi). He governs without deliberate action (Wuwei), yet the world does not descend into chaos. He speaks no words, yet people trust him. He teaches nothing, yet the common folk naturally follow. His realm is so vast it defies description. I suspect he may be a sage—but whether he is truly one, I cannot say with certainty."

Hearing this, the Grand Minister thought to himself: "Is Kong Qiu trying to deceive me?"

In another account, Confucius' disciple Zixia asked him: "What kind of person is Yan Hui?" Confucius replied: "Yan Hui's virtue (De) surpasses mine." Asked about Zigong, he said: "Zigong's eloquence is stronger than mine." Asked about Zilu: "Zilu's courage exceeds mine." Asked about Zizhang: "Zizhang's dignity is greater than mine." Zixia rose from his seat and pressed further: "If these four disciples all surpass you in these ways, why are they willing to follow and learn from you?"

Confucius said to his disciples: "Be seated, and I shall tell you. Yan Hui (Confucius' disciple) possessed benevolence but lacked adaptability; Zigong (Confucius' disciple) was eloquent yet unskilled in silence; Zilu (Confucius' disciple) had abundant courage but knew not when to yield; Zizhang (Confucius' disciple) maintained solemn dignity but lacked harmony. Even if all four men's virtues were combined and offered to me in exchange, I would not consent. This is precisely why they followed me with unwavering loyalty."

Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure) became a disciple of Huqiuzi Lin and formed a friendship with Bohun Maoren (a Daoist hermit), later residing outside the southern city wall. Over a hundred students followed him, yet none could attain his level of cultivation. Nevertheless, Liezi's practice was remarkably refined. Each morning his disciples would gather to discuss learning with him, leaving no subject unexplored.

Liezi lived as neighbors with Nanguozi (a hermit) for twenty years without ever visiting each other; when they met on the road, their eyes passed as if seeing nothing. Liezi's disciples all assumed there must be deep enmity between them.

A visitor from Chu asked Liezi: "What grievance exists between you and Nanguozi?" Liezi replied: "Nanguozi maintains outward fullness and inner emptiness—his ears hear not, his eyes see not, his mouth speaks not, his mind thinks not, his body moves not. What purpose would my visits serve? However, since you ask, let us go observe him together."

He then led forty disciples to visit. Upon meeting Nanguozi, they found him indeed like a wooden figurine or clay statue, completely beyond the reach of communication.

Master Nanguo (a Daoist recluse) suddenly pointed at Liezi's disciple who was walking at the rear—the one who appeared particularly focused, straightforward, and brimming with self-assurance. The other disciples were astonished. When they returned to their quarters, everyone wore expressions of bewilderment.

Liezi explained: "Those who truly comprehend the Dao do not speak excessively; those who possess genuine wisdom do not rely on words. Expressing through silence is still expression; regarding unknowing as knowing is also a form of knowing. Silence and speech, unknowing and knowing—these are fundamentally just different modes of expression and cognition. There is nothing that must be said, and nothing that must be known; nothing that cannot be said, and nothing that cannot be known. Such is the simplicity of it—why should you be so surprised?"

When Liezi studied under his teacher Lao Shang (a Daoist master), for the first three years he dared not entertain thoughts of right and wrong in his mind, nor speak of gain and loss with his mouth—only then did he barely earn a glance of acknowledgment from his teacher. After five years, he began to contemplate right and wrong in his heart and discuss profit and harm with his words, at which point his teacher first smiled at him. Seven years passed—no matter what thoughts arose in his mind, he no longer clung to distinctions of right and wrong; no matter what words left his lips, he ceased calculating gain and loss. Only then did his teacher allow him to share the same mat. After nine years, whether in thought or speech, he could no longer distinguish his own concepts of right and wrong, gain and loss—nor those of others.

This passage from the Liezi expounds profound philosophical insights regarding cultivation states and the true meaning of spiritual journeying.

When one's practice reaches the state of internal-external unity, the boundaries between senses dissolve. Eyes can hear like ears, ears can smell like a nose, the nose can speak like a mouth—all sensory faculties become interconnected without obstruction. When the mind is deeply concentrated, the physical form seems to melt away; one no longer perceives the body's support, the feet's steps, or even the thoughts in the heart or the words on the tongue. Upon reaching this state, one penetrates the principles of all things.

Liezi (also known as Lie Yukou) originally delighted in traveling extensively. His teacher, Master Huzi, asked him: "Since you love journeying, what exactly are you seeking?" Liezi replied: "The joy of travel lies in the constant novelty of what one sees. Ordinary travelers observe only surface scenery, but I contemplate the transformations of things. Few truly understand this level of journeying."

Master Huzi pointed out: "Your way of traveling may seem different from others, but in essence, it is the same. You notice the changes in external things but fail to realize that you yourself are also changing. You cling to outward wandering while neglecting inward contemplation."

True journeying is of two kinds: those who seek outwardly always wish to behold all things, while those who contemplate inwardly find fulfillment within themselves. Those who attain fulfillment within have mastered the highest form of journeying; those who chase external phenomena never grasp its true essence. Upon hearing this, Liezi ceased traveling for the rest of his life, realizing he had never truly understood journeying.

Master Huzi then said: "Now you have reached the supreme state! The highest traveler does not know where to go; the highest observer does not know what to see." This means genuine cultivation does not lie in external forms but in attaining the state where self and objects are both forgotten.

All things in the world move freely at their will, and everything can be observed with perfect clarity. This is what I understand as the true meaning of "free wandering" and "clear observation." Thus we say: This state of wandering has reached its ultimate perfection! This state of wandering has truly reached its ultimate perfection!

Long Shu (a Daoist figure) said to Wen Zhi (an ancient physician): "Your medical skills are truly extraordinary. I suffer from a peculiar illness—can you cure it?" Wen Zhi replied: "I would like to hear more. But first, please describe your symptoms."

Long Shu described his condition: "My current state is most peculiar: When my fellow villagers praise me, I feel no sense of honor; when the entire nation slanders me, I feel no shame. Gaining things brings me no joy, and losing them no sorrow. I regard life as if it were death; I view wealth and status as poverty; I see others as no different from pigs or dogs, and myself as merely an ordinary person. Though I dwell in my own home, it feels like an inn; when I look upon my hometown, it seems like a barbaric wilderness."

"None of these symptoms can be moved by rank or reward, nor frightened by punishment or threat. The rise and fall of worldly affairs, gains and losses, cannot alter me; neither joy nor anger can shake me. In this state, I find myself unable to serve my ruler, befriend others, guide my wife and children, or command my servants. What kind of illness is this? Is there any remedy that can cure it?"

After listening, Wen Zhi had Long Shu stand with his back to the light while he himself faced the brightness to observe him. After gazing for a while, he suddenly exclaimed: "Ah! I see your heart—within that square inch of space lies complete emptiness. You are nearly a sage! Your heart has seven apertures, six of which are already fully open—only one remains not entirely clear."

These passages from the Liezi reveal profound Daoist insights on life, death, and nature. The first segment states that some consider the wisdom of sages a form of illness—one that cannot be cured by ordinary means. This implies that true wisdom often transcends conventional understanding.

The text then discusses the Dao (the Way) of life and death: That which endures without relying on external things is the Dao (the fundamental principle of the universe). To live in accordance with natural law means that even when the body perishes, the spirit (Shen) does not vanish—this is the natural course. But to perish while clinging to life is misfortune. Conversely, to die in alignment with the principle of death is also an expression of the Dao—this too is natural. Yet to attain new life through death is considered fortunate.

To exist without utilitarian purpose is the Dao, and to age in harmony with the Dao is natural. To act with intention and still perish is also the Dao, and to die in accordance with the Dao remains natural. This passage emphasizes the importance of aligning with natural law.

The text then illustrates this with the behavior of Yang Zhu (a representative Daoist figure): When Ji Liang died, Yang Zhu sang; yet when Sui Wu passed, he wept bitterly. Ordinary people live and die, and whether the crowd sings or mourns has no fixed rule. This shows that those who comprehend the Dao respond to life and death spontaneously, unbound by rigid forms.

Finally, sensory changes serve as metaphors: Eyes nearing blindness first perceive minute details; ears close to deafness initially detect the buzz of mosquitoes; taste fading distinguishes the waters of the Zi and Sheng rivers; a blocked nose first smells scorched odors; the body, stiffening, suddenly dashes wildly; and the mind, before confusion, gains sudden clarity. This illustrates how things, at their extremes, transform into their opposites.

The passage concludes by noting how Zheng’s Puze produced many sages, while Dongli nurtured numerous talents—demonstrating how different regions excel in distinct ways. Together, these passages embody core Daoist principles: aligning with nature, transcending life and death, and the reversal of extremes.

In the region of Puze, there was a man named Bofengzi who was passing through Dongli with his attendants when he encountered Deng Xi, a famous debater of the Spring and Autumn period. Deng Xi turned to his disciples with a laugh and said, "Look at that man—doesn’t he seem like he’s dancing?" The disciples replied, "We were just wondering what kind of person he is."

Deng Xi then addressed Bofengzi directly: "Do you understand the principle of 'nurturing'? Those who are provided for but cannot sustain themselves are no better than pigs or dogs. The true ability of a human lies in taming all things and making them serve our purposes. Look at your followers—well-fed and clothed, yet idle, entirely dependent on those in power. How are they any different from penned livestock?"

Bofengzi remained silent, but one of his attendants stepped forward and retorted: "Have you not heard of the abundance of talent in the lands of Qi and Lu? There, you’ll find master builders, skilled metalworkers, musicians versed in harmony, scholars adept in calligraphy, generals capable of leading armies, and priests who oversee rituals—every kind of expertise is represented. Yet these talents do not interfere with or command one another. Those who assign positions may lack true ability, and those who issue orders may be incompetent, while those with genuine insight are the ones being ordered about. So, in truth, those currently in power are merely directing us, the truly capable. What grounds do you have for arrogance?"

Deng Xi was left speechless and could only retreat with his disciples in defeat.

(Another passage) Gongyi Bo was renowned among the feudal lords for his extraordinary strength.

Tangxi Gong recommended Gongyi Bo to King Xuan of Zhou, who prepared an elaborate ceremony to invite him. When Gongyi Bo arrived, the king looked him over and saw that he seemed timid. Puzzled, he asked, “Just how strong are you?”

Gongyi Bo replied, “I can snap a locust’s leg in spring and bear the weight of a cicada’s wing in autumn.” The king’s face changed. “I can tear rhinoceros hide and hold back nine oxen by their tails, yet I still think I’m not strong enough. You can only snap a locust’s leg and bear a cicada’s wing, yet your strength is famous throughout the world. How can that be?”

Gongyi Bo sighed deeply and rose from his seat. “My king, that is a good question. I’ll tell you honestly. My teacher, Shangqiu Zi, was the strongest man in the world, yet even his family did not know it, because he never used his strength lightly. I followed him with my life and studied under him. He taught me: ‘If you want to see what others cannot see, observe what they pay no attention to. If you want to attain what others cannot attain, practice what they are unwilling to do. So those who study how to see must first learn to notice the firewood on a cart; those who study how to hear must first learn to listen to the sound of a struck bell. When something seems easy in your heart, it will not feel difficult to do. When doing something feels effortless, your reputation will not exceed what is due.’”

“Now my name is known throughout the lands of the feudal lords precisely because I went against my teacher’s instruction.” (This implies that true practitioners should keep their abilities hidden and not display them lightly.)

This passage recounts a debate between Gongsun Long and Prince Mou of Zhongshan, a wise aristocrat of Wei, and Yuezheng Ziyu.

Prince Mou enjoyed associating with worthy men and paid little attention to affairs of state. He especially admired Gongsun Long of Zhao. Yuezheng Ziyu and others mocked him for it. Prince Mou retorted, “Why do you mock me for admiring Gongsun Long?”

Yuezheng Ziyu criticized him: “Gongsun Long has no teacher to guide his conduct and no like-minded companions in his studies. He is eloquent but misses the point; his learning is a jumble without any system. He delights in novelty and talks nonsense. He only wants to confuse people and leave them speechless. He is cut from the same cloth as Han Tan.”

Prince Mou’s expression changed. “How can you make Gongsun Long sound so disgraceful? Give me a specific example.”

Yuezheng Ziyu replied, “I laugh at him for fooling Kong Chuan. He said, ‘A master archer can make each arrow strike the tail of the one before it, so the arrows link together. Just as the first arrow hits the center of the target, the tail of the next still rests on the bowstring. It looks as if there were only one arrow.’”

Kong Chuan was astonished when he heard this. Gongsun Long went on: “That is nothing. Hong Chao, a disciple of Feng Meng, the ancient master archer, once grew angry with his wife and wanted to frighten her…”

This dialogue recounts a debate between two ancient sages regarding the paradoxical propositions of Gongsun Long, a representative figure of the School of Names.

Prince Mou used an archery metaphor to explain Gongsun Long's profound statements: Like the arrows shot by the legendary archer Qi Wei, the arrowhead could pierce the target's eye socket before the eyelid had time to blink; the arrow would already be on the ground before dust had time to rise. Such phenomena transcending ordinary logic characterize the discourse of sages—difficult for the unenlightened to comprehend. He further explained that just as the nock of a later arrow could touch the head of a previous one, the seemingly contradictory statement "an arrow hits the eyeball without the eyelid blinking" actually describes the natural conclusion of the arrow's momentum.

Yuezheng Ziyu criticized Gongsun Long's propositions as absurd, listing his famous paradoxes: 1) "Consciousness is not mind" (awareness doesn't equate to having a mind) 2) "Pointing doesn't reach" (indicating something doesn't necessarily attain it) 3) "Things cannot be fully known" 4) "Shadows don't actually move" 5) "A single hair can pull a thousand jun" (a strand can bear enormous weight) 6) "A white horse is not a horse" 7) "An orphaned calf never had a mother." He considered these statements contrary to common sense.

Prince Mou defended these propositions: When free from subjective consciousness, all things share the same mind; not deliberately pointing allows one to reach essence. Shadows appear motionless because observation angles change, a hair can bear weight through balanced force, "a white horse is not a horse" demonstrates the separation between name and substance, while an orphaned calf is defined precisely by its loss of a mother.

Gongzi Mou remained silent for a long time before finally rising to take his leave, saying: "Allow me to return another day to seek further instruction on your views."

After fifty years of ruling the world, Emperor Yao began to reflect: Did he truly govern the world well? Did the people genuinely support him? When he asked his close attendants, they could not say; when he inquired of court officials, they did not know; when he questioned the common folk, they too were unaware.

So Yao disguised himself in plain clothes and went among the people in secret. On the open highways, he heard children singing a folk song: "You nurture all us common folk, none untouched by your virtue (De). No need to strive for understanding—just follow the Dao’s natural course." Delighted, Yao asked the children: "Who taught you this song?" They replied: "We heard it from the officials." When Yao questioned the officials, they said: "This is an ancient poem passed down through generations."

Returning to the palace, Yao immediately summoned Shun and resolved to abdicate the throne to him. Shun accepted without hesitation.

Guan Yinxi (a Daoist figure) described the state of one who has attained the Dao thus: The mind clings to no fixed views, yet all things manifest naturally. In movement, they flow like water; in stillness, they are clear as a mirror; in response, they echo instantly. Thus, the Dao and all things are fundamentally one. Though things may stray from the Dao, the Dao never abandons them. Those who truly comprehend the Dao need not even deliberately employ senses like the ears.

This passage discusses the methods and states of Daoist cultivation. To comprehend the great Dao (the Way), conventional approaches like seeing with the eyes, hearing with the ears, perceiving with the body, or contemplating with the mind will never succeed. The Dao appears to be in front of you, then suddenly shifts behind; when employed, it fills the six directions of heaven and earth (referring to the entire spatial universe), yet when released, its whereabouts become unknowable.

Neither those who consciously pursue it can distance themselves from it, nor can those who unconsciously seek it draw near. Only those who maintain stillness and follow nature’s course can attain it. True wisdom lies in knowing without clinging to emotions, and possessing ability without deliberate action (Wuwei).

Like piled clods of earth or accumulated dust—seemingly inactive—they nonetheless follow their inherent principles. Here, natural phenomena serve as metaphors for cultivation: one must align with the Dao’s natural order, free from forced striving.